Children of Troy
by CarelessNymph
Summary: Rogue's past comes back to haunt her, dragging her into a world of thieves and assassins and an ancient blood feud. Will she be able to protect her family or is everthing she worked for lost?ROMY
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Okay, yeah, thieves and assassins and Rogue…immediately you think Romy, right

A/N: Okay, yeah, thieves and assassins and Rogue…immediately you think Romy, right? Well, I need help. Writing a Romy scene kind of terrifies me. I don't know what it is, but I'm scared. If those of you with experience in this area could give me a few hints, I would be eternally grateful to you. Forever and ever. But anyways, just so you know, I do intend to make this a Romy fic, eventually. I would just appreciate a few pointers.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the X-men or anything associated with Marvel comics. I am a lowly fan and nothing else.

She was there again, the sixth night in a row. He may not be able to see her or hear her, but he could definitely smell her, an odd mixture of the sea and a cold winter evening, mysterious and alluring. She had never been this close to the institute before, who ever this woman was, and Logan was determined to make sure that she wouldn't be back at the end of this visit.

With a crack of his neck, he left the mansion to go hunting. She was stealthy, quick and quiet. If he were anyone else, he would never have known she was here, except for her smell. It seemed to permeate everything she came in contact with, no matter how long the contact.

Oh, she was good, very good, weaving and backtracking, never letting him hear or see her. It had been awhile since he had come across such a formidable opponent; this was going to be fun.

He followed the scent out of the forest and around the institute. Something wasn't right, the way she was moving was off. He rounded a corner and found out why.

She stood in front of the fountain, back towards him. The large moon illuminated her so Logan could finally get a look at this mystery woman. She was tall with a slender body and long black hair; so black it was almost blue. She had pulled it back into a French braid and it fell to just below her waist. Her skin glowed in the moonlight, almost as pale as the moon itself. Her right arm hung at her side, and in her right hand shone the blade of a katana.

It was a trap. She had led him here knowing exactly what she was doing.

A light laugh was heard from his opponent. She looked at him over her shoulder.

" Well, are you just going to stand there, or are you going to do something?"

Logan gave a low growl and unsheathed his claws. Upon hearing the ominous "Snikt" of his claws, the woman turned to face him, inspecting him with a cold, calculating look, a look that was all business. She was definitely a professional.

" Are you sure you want to start something, darlin'?"

"More than anything."

With that, Logan let out the Wolverine and charged at the woman. She didn't even flinch, just stood there watching him, waiting until the right moment, then she jumped straight into the air, flipping herself end over end and landing behind him in a crouch, katana still in hand. Wolverine stopped his charge as quickly as he could and turned on his heel, just in time to see a flash of silver as the woman's blade narrowly missed his left ear. His piercing blue eyes met her hard gray ones for a split second before she quickly spun to her left and out of striking range. They slowly started to circle each other, waiting for the right time to attack, watching for the first sign of weakness.

Suddenly, as if neither could wait any longer, they both charged one another, brandishing blades with a wild abandon. If someone had been watching them, they would have witnessed a beautiful and violent dance the likes of which they had never seen, with flashing blades and spectacular maneuvers performed with the utmost ease.

The only thing Wolverine could hear was the clash of weapons and his own heart beat roaring in his ears. The woman was good, matching him strike for strike, move for move, but he could see that she was tiring. She had amazing endurance, but he could still tell she was tiring. His breathing started to become heavier and he knew he had to find an opening soon.

He found it. He promptly ducked, throwing her off balance, and before she could regain her balance, he shot back up, grabbing a hold of her throat and slamming her up against a brick wall.

He glowered at his opponent, and she met his stare with a glare of her own.

" What do you want?" he growled at her

" I have come for **η πριγκίπισσα" **(The Princess translated from Greek).


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thank you to all of you who reviewed and favored my story, wow, talk about ego booster

A/N: Thank you to all of you who reviewed and favored my story, wow, talk about ego booster. I feel a minor Sally Field moment coming on… you like me… okay, it's gone. I hope this was fast enough for you. Special thanks to **Rhyno304**, for knocking some sense into me.

_She stood on the coast, the wind whipping her hair around her, stinging her face. The salt water crashed against the various rocks littering the seaside, sending drops of water into the air and into her open wounds. She didn't care._

_She barely noticed the tattered rags she called clothing, or the cold that was turning her lips blue. Nothing mattered now. Her life was ruined; nothing would be the same. Once she had been proud and noble, rich and powerful, mother to the future rulers, now nothing but a slave, considered no better than the dirt under her feet. _

_Holding herself, she looked at the scene before her. Her once beautiful city lay before her in ruins, lit ablaze by barbarians. Bodies littered the streets, the smell of burning flesh wafting over the shore, the smell too strong to be held back by the fresh sea air. So many dead, so few survived. Her husband and sons hung from the mighty walls of the city, her young grandson thrown from the highest part to meet their bloody end. Her daughters, granddaughters, nieces, sisters, maids, every able-bodied woman captured and turned into concubines and slaves, the rest raped and killed. Her people defeated. She never thought she'd see the day. The walls were supposed to hold forever, protecting the indestructible city. How wrong they were. _

_A single tear slid down her soot stained cheek. A single tear for all the atrocities visited to her people. _

_Turning her head, she watched the survivors. All of them were women, all of them with the same blank look on their face. They were past anguish and sorrow, rage and fury. The only thought that consumed their minds was of vengeance. They cried for retribution for their broken families and ruined city in their minds. The many voices were almost overpowering. _

_Blocking their shrieks from her mind, she gave a humorless and hollow laugh. Oh, if only they had listened to her daughter they would have been spared this. _

_Summoning the last bit of her strength, she sent out a message to her people, directly to their minds. _

" **Stay strong, daughters of Troy. Remember the atrocities that were brought upon our people. They can break your body, they can contain your thoughts and curb your tongue, but they cannot shatter your spirit or own your soul, for you are of Troy, the greatest city of them all, beloved of the Gods. Teach your daughters of their heritage, mark them at birth with our darling city's crest so they will recognize each other in their travels. The Trojans will rise again, and we will be victorious. Never doubt, dear sisters, hold steady and remember."**

_Her message of hope sent, she watched without emotion as the women of Troy were scattered across the earth._

_After the last boat had left, she walked out to the sea, feeling the water encase her feet in their depths. Slowly, her feet lead her farther and farther in, never stopping. She walked on, welcoming the waters cold embrace. She walked and walked until she disappeared under the waves, never to be seen again._

**Inside**

Rogue woke with a start, bolting up in bed; there was a light sheen of sweat on her. The only thing she could hear was her own harsh breathing and the word remember running through her head.

She had had that dream again. She was never able to remember what happened in it, it was just jumbles of scenes involving fire and dead bodies, and always the word remember.

The only good thing about the dream was that it caused the psyches in her head to go away. Where, she didn't know, but they weren't with her. She was always able to think more clearly after this dream.

It had been coming more frequently lately, and she was feeling restless, like she should be somewhere else.

Looking at the clock she read the glowing digital numbers. 3: 32 am

With a small inward groan, she rolled out of bed and quietly put on her robe. There was no way she would be able to fall asleep again, she was never able to. She would close her eyes and see the broken and bloodied bodies of children and would hear that damn word remember whispered over and over in her brain.

She walked out of her door and closing it behind her, headed for the kitchen. There was a pint of Vermonty Python calling her name.

**Outside**

The Wolverine let out a feral roar. He lifted his victim off of the ground and slammed her against the brick wall again, tightening his hold on her neck.

Closing her eyes, she let out a small groan.

Wolverine repeated the question, " What do you want?"

Opening her eyes to glare at him, she gasped out her answer, "Леди"(The Lady, translated from Russian)

Tightening his grip on her throat once again and lifting her higher, he threw her against the brick wall a third time. She coughed slightly, letting a small line blood dribble out of the corner of her mouth as her head fell back. Looking up into her eyes, the Wolverine found something that chilled him to the bone. Looking at her, he realized she wasn't afraid to die. He didn't see fear in her eyes, he didn't smell fear on her, only determination and anger. Well, if she wasn't afraid to die, the Wolverine wasn't afraid to kill.

He snarled at her, growing impatient with her games.

" I won't ask again, what do you want? In English this time."

She struggled to breath, fighting against unconsciousness, trying to gather enough air to answer him.

"_Den urørlige_" (The untouchable, translated from Danish)

" Logan!"

The voice that shrieked his name brought back the man, made the feral animal that is the Wolverine step back, allowing the human side of his body to take control. Looking over his shoulder, he silently watched the girl approach, never loosening his grip on the woman before him.

**Outside**

Rogue had seen Logan and this mystery woman from a window in the hallway. She had watched as the Wolverine continually battered his victim against the wall. When the woman's head fell back after the third hit, the moon light had illuminated her, giving Rogue a good look at her face. A startled gasp had escaped her lips. She knew this woman, she didn't know how or when, but she was important to Rogue and she had to save her. She ran out of the door as fast as she could, hoping against hope that the woman was still alive when she got there.

She screamed, "Logan!"

She saw the man pause and knew the Wolverine had let go of his hold on the man inside.

She ran up to Logan and rested her gloved hand on his shoulder. Looking at him with her wide emerald eyes, she pleaded with him.

"Please, Logan, let her go."

"Can't do that kid, she's been snoopin' around the institute."

"Please, ya can tahke her to the Prahfessor and tell him about it, but please, let her go."

Logan noticed her accent becoming more prominent. It always got thicker when she was stressed. He made a mistake when he glanced at her, immediately melting when he met her teary eyes. He immediately bent to her will and quickly removed his hand from around the woman's neck, causing her to slide down the wall and land in a heap on the ground.

Logan got a smile and a quick squeeze of his arm before Rogue rushed to the woman's side.

She contacted the Professor and helped the woman up. With Logan's ever-watchful presence with her, she led the battered and beaten woman to Charles Xavier's office, never knowing how this mysterious lady would change her life.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: You see what you're making me do? Another chapter, meaning another night barricaded in the freezing basement. Ah well, as long as you enjoy the story.

Disclaimer: No, I do not nor have I ever owned the X-men or anything associated with Marvel comics… unless it's a few errant action figures or forgotten comics lying under someone's bed.

**The Professors Office.**

Slowly and carefully, Rogue led the woman to a chair. Sitting her down in front of the Professor, she took the chair to the woman's left. Logan stood guard in the back of the room, never taking his eyes off the stranger. Behind a mahogany desk sat Charles Xavier, staring intently at the foreigner in front of him, fingers steepled in front of him.

The battered and bruised woman's eyes darted around the room quickly, as if searching for all the possible ways out of the space, before finally settling on the girl to her left. The intensity of her stare scared Rogue, but there was something there that she recognized, deep inside she knew this woman meant her no harm.

" Thank you, Hermana," (Sister, translated from Spanish) the woman whispered to her.

These were the first words that Rogue had heard come from the woman's lips. The journey to the Professor's office had been silent, save for the woman's harsh breathing and quiet gasps and Logan's frequent grunts of warning.

Rogue noticed the small musical lilt the woman had to her voice. Where had she heard that accent before? It came to her in an instant. The woman was Irish. Rogue offered her a small smile and opened her mouth to give an answer when the door was opened, allowing three slightly tousled and unkempt X-men into the room. Upon noticing the unknown caller, they became wary and cautious. Attentive and watchful, they moved in to fill up the remaining chairs.

Giving a deep sigh, the Professor unsteepled his hands and leaned back in his chair. He wasted no time.

"Tell me, child, what is your name."

The woman's gaze never left Rogue.

" You can call me Fodhla, and I am no child," the woman answered.

" And what is it you came for?"

"I came for The Lady."

"The Lady?"

"The Princess"

"Princess?"

" The young woman named Rogue, the untouchable one, Anna-Marie D'Ancanto, our people's hope and dreams. Our future leader."

**Logan**

As soon as they had gotten the woman into the light, Logan gave a small inward groan.

She was young, much too young to lead the life she apparently led. She couldn't be over 21 years of age, but he knew it would be foolish to think of her as a child, she was too dangerous. He looked her over, wincing slightly when he noticed the bruises forming around her neck. He didn't know why, but he felt slightly guilty. Not that he would let it show, she deserved every blow and hit he had administered.

Grunting to remind the stranger he was still there, he followed behind his surrogate daughter, making sure the woman didn't try anything while she was under Marie's protection.

That girl was special to him, he had felt an immediate connection to Marie the moment he had seen her in that bar in Laughlin City those many years ago. He couldn't explain it; it was like their pasts had been intertwined in ways no one could understand. He just knew she needed his protection, and so she became his to protect. Never before had someone had such a hold on him.

Coming out of his reverie, he noticed they had come to the Professors office. Entering and taking his customary spot at the back of the room, he stared at the woman, an odd feeling coming over him. He knew her from somewhere, but where? Perhaps from his forgotten past? No, she was much to young to be from his past, but where?

He shoved aside this thought and focused on keeping the woman in line. He leaned against the wall and waited for the others to arrive.

**The Professor's office**

She sat there shocked. Her, Rogue, the resident damsel-in-distress, a leader? Wait, what was the word Fodhla had used? Princess? The others looked at her, apparently just as bewildered as she was

The woman was still looking at her, when suddenly Rogue saw fury flash through Fodhla's eyes. Swiftly, the Irish woman turned to face the Professor and hissed at him.

" Nice try, telepath. You want to read my mind? Then read it all."

The Professor gave a small cry of pain and slumped forward onto his desk.

Scott was up in a flash, one of his hands flying to his visor, ready to obliterate the person who had dared hurt the man that was like a father to him. Storm and Jean were not far behind him, standing behind their fearless leader, ready to strike the woman at Scott's signal.

As fast as they were, they were too slow to match the Wolverine, who threw himself at the foreigner with such rage that he stunned the others into inaction.

Apparently, Fodhla was expecting such an attack. Pushing Rogue out of the way, she slid off her chair and landed on her back. Flipping herself over and onto her knees, she just managed to evade the enraged Wolverine that flew over her. Grabbing a hold of the neck of his shirt, she pulled him down to the ground and quickly placed her left knee in the middle of his back. Working as quickly as she could, she placed one of her arms under his right armpit and hooked her hand around his broad neck. She repeated the movement on the other side and bracing herself by placing her knees on either side of his calves, she lifted up. The creak of Wolverine's bones could be heard as she sat down on his knees, causing him to bend backwards.

It was silent except for the loud, hitching breaths from the two combatants.

The strain this little scuffle was putting on Fodhla was evident. The small line of blood had returned to the corner of her mouth, causing small drops to run down her chin and fall on the carpet. Panting, she struggled to get her words out.

" I do not wish to hurt you, I just don't take kindly to people reading my mind. My thoughts are my own, and I wish for you to respect that. You would agree that I am most co-operative unless provoked. Please, I wish for us to finish this on good terms. The old man will be fine in a few minuets, I promise. My mind just over loaded his is all. I will let your friend here go if you promise not to attack me. "

They all looked at the woman currently holding their teammate hostage. Rogue was the first to nod, silently pleading with the rest to agree. Slowly, they all agreed, nodding to the woman.

Fodhla let go of her hostage, backing up from him. The Wolverine speedily got up from the ground and turned to face his adversary, but before he could exact any revenge, her eye's rolled into the back of her head and she fell to the ground.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry……It's been a bit hectic and I ended up in the middle of a Fubar event. Anyway,Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own the X-men or any thing in association with Marvel comics. I am making no profit off of this…sigh.

**Professor's Office**

Pushing herself up off of the floor, Rogue took in the scene before her. Coming up behind the irrate Wolverine, she laid one gloved hand on his forearm and quickly caught his eye. One look into those wide jade eyes caused the animal to back down, giving the man, Logan, control over his body once again. With a gentle squeeze and grateful look, Rogue rushed over to the fallen woman.

A familiar and fatherly voice broke the silence.

" Do not worry, Rogue, our visitor is fine. I just thought it prudent to incapacitate her for the time being, before anymore damage is done."

The heads of the room's occupants turned to their previously unconcious leader. Many voices spoke at once.

"Professor…."

"You were…"

" She was…"

Raising his hands in a request for silence, the Professor spoke.

" I will explain it all later, but first, Jean, I would like for you to take our guest down to the med lab and take care of her wounds. Rogue, if you would assist her, Fodhla seems to trust you."

Quickly rising from the floor, she watched as the woman was lifted from the floor and followed her floating form out of the room, falling into step beside The telekenetic doctor. Without even looking, she knew that Logan was moving to follow her out, behind her and to the left, like he always was.

She heard the Professor's voice.

" I would appreciate it if you would stay here, Logan. Jean and Rogue will be fine, they can take care of themselves. Besides, I do believe our caller will be unable to harm anyone for a little while at least."

Giving her defender a fleeting look of assurance, she followed Jean and the hovering woman down the hall.

**Professor's office**

Turning on his heel, Logan let out a low growl towards the Professor.

" You wanna tell me why you just let Jeannie and the Kid out of here with that crazed woman without me?"

Charles raised an eyebrow at Logan and allowed a small wry smile to appear on his face.

" I allowed Jean to care for you on her own when you first arrived, did I not? You were certainly as dangerous and crazed, if not more, than our visitor.I like to think I am a good judge of character."

" Okay, what's this all about Chuck?"

" I am not exactly sure, but if you will all sit, I will tell you what I know. It seems this woman is a mutant. A pre-cog to be precise. She can see into the future."

**Med Lab**

Two hours. She had been sitting here for two hours. Looking at the woman lying on the bed beside her, she gave a sigh.

There had been a bit of internal bleeding and some bruising of the organs, not to mention many other cuts and bruises and pulled and strained muscles. They had taken care of that soon enough, now the only thing was to let the woman rest.

Rogue was able to tell Fodhla was young when she first saw her by moonlight, but under the bright florecent lighting of the med lab and with her face relaxed in sleep, Rogue could see just how young.

Letting out another sigh, she folded her hands in her lap and settled in for a long wait.

She wanted to talk to this woman, this woman who called her princess, who seemed to think she was a leader.

Rogue was very sure that Fodhla was mad. There was no other explaination for it. No one would ever call her a leader. She was a mild-mannered southern belle, quiet spoken, and almost too polite for her own good. Still, something told her to trust this woman, that she knew what she was talking about.

She felt a broad, rough hand on her left shoulder and flinched. It was an automatic reaction that she couldn't help. Any kind of touch was something she justifiably feared and reviled since the manifestation of her powers.

Looking over her shoulder, she found that the hand belonged to Logan. She gave him an apologetic look and went back to staring at the resting woman before her.

He was the first to break the silence.

" So, what do you think, kid?"

She gave him a questioning look.

" 'Bout what, Logan?"

" What she said, about you being a princess?"

" Ah don't know, really ah don't. Ah'm just so confused. Mah head is telling meh she's nut's, but something else… Ah don't know."

Logan sat in the chair beside her and took one of her gloved hands in his. Of all the people at the mansion, Logan was the only one that never seemed to be afraid of touching her. She laid her head on his shoulder.

"Something else is tellin' you to trust her, right? Something else is tellin' you that you know her from somewhere, that she is a part of you."

Rogue blinked up at him.

"How….how did…?"

"Because, kid, that something else is tellin' me the same thing."

A small, raspy laugh was heard. They both looked up to see a pair of large grey eyes looking back at them.

" Well ,I should hope so, Son of Hector, otherwise I would have to worry. My dear Lady, do not worry, I shall explain everything to you in good time, but first, tell me, what do you know of Η πτώση της Τροίας?" ( The fall of Troy, translated from Greek)


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: This is a "flash back" chapter for three of the most famous princesses of Troy. Bold-woman 1, italics-woman 2, text, woman 3, underlined- all three. Oh, and having twins was considered a bad omen at that particular point in time.

Disclaimer: Don't own X-men or anything associated with Marvel Comics…Yada, yada, yada… Don't sue.

**Pain ripped through her abdomen. It was like nothing she had ever felt. They called women the weaker sex, but she would have liked to see a man attempt this.**

**Gritting her teeth, she let out a strangled moan as the pain took hold of her again.**

**She lay back against the thin straw pallet and threadbare blankets as the pain eased. Her long black hair was plastered to her face. It felt like she had been at this forever with no end in sight. She only knew agony and anguish. Letting out her breath in a hiss, she waited for the next wave of torture.**

**It came soon after, seeming to cleave her body in two. She would not scream, she would not cry, she would not be afraid; she was a princess of Troy. Biting into the strip of leather offered her, she repeated this thought like a mantra.**

**She would not scream.**

**She would not cry.**

**She would not be afraid.**

**She was a princess of Troy.**

* * *

_Strange hands gripped her own, eyes she did not know looked on, and all she knew was agony. She remembered now why she feared this, this anguish. She would die tonight, of that she was sure. Her red hair fell over her face as she rose up from the stone floor, trying desperately to escape the pain. A tortured groan escaped her lips and she was quickly hushed. A large wad of cloth was forced past her lips and between her teeth to stifle her moans. A tear made its way down her cheek, unnoticed due to the sweat that already dripped down her face. Any sound would bring her master down, and only the gods knew what would happen then._

_She wished she could scream. She wished she could cry. She was very much afraid, but she found strength._

_She could not scream._

_She could not cry._

_She could not be afraid._

_She was a princess of Troy._

* * *

A shriek escaped her lips, giving sound to her suffering. The High Priestess and Priest, her ladies and maids and the healer all stood around her bed, piled high with pillows and packed with fresh straw. The air was too heavy to breath, what she wouldn't give for a light wind of the sea to move through the room. Clutching her belly, she moaned and begged for death. She knew for a fact that she could do this, she had done it for a lesser man, but that did not alleviate her fears in the least. The pain was coming more frequently, leaving her little time to sleep in between. A cool cloth was laid against her forehead, wiping the sweat off and pushing her golden hair out of her face. She held her breath with the next wave of pain, gasping like a landed fish when it was done. Her courage was long gone, along with the man she loved.

She would scream.

She would cry.

She would be afraid.

She was a princess of Troy.

* * *

**She looked to the old Shepardess. Getting the conformation she needed, she bore down.**

* * *

_She looked to the old woman. She bore down._

* * *

She looked to the healer. She bore down.

* * *

**A wail pierced the night….**

* * *

_A wail echoed off the stonewalls…_

* * *

A wail was heard through the palace…

* * *

**The Princess Kassandra had given birth to a daughter in a shepardess' hut.**

* * *

_The Princess Andromache had given birth to a daughter in her masters cellar._

* * *

The Princess Helen had given birth to a daughter in her husband's palace.

* * *

**That was not all… she bore down again.**

* * *

_That was not all… she bore down again._

* * *

That was not all… she bore down again.

* * *

**Another wail pierced the night… a son.**

* * *

_Another wail echoed off the walls… a son._

* * *

Another wail was heard through the palace… a son.

* * *

**A daughter, so much like her mother. She smiled. The shepardess' warnings of bad omens reached deaf ears**.

* * *

_A daughter, so much like her mother. She smiled. The stranger's warnings of bad omens reached deaf ears._

* * *

A daughter, so much like her mother. She smiled. The Priestess' warnings of bad omens reached deaf ears.

* * *

**A son, so much like his father. She frowned.**

* * *

_A son, so much like his father. She smiled._

* * *

A son, so much like his father. She sighed.

* * *

**She was so weary…**

* * *

_She was so weary…_

* * *

She was so weary…

* * *

Tomorrow's problems would come soon enough, but for now, sleep claimed the three women. So different they were, yet so similar.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Guess what? A few things will be explained in this chapter! Can you say yay? Thank you to all of my reviewers and readers. You are my motivation!

Disclaimer: I don't own, nor will I ever own, the X-men or Marvel Comics.

**Rogue**

The surface she was lying on was smooth and hard. Its coolness felt nice against her fevered skin. The room felt like it was spinning and she could tell it was bright even with her eyes closed. She felt a large, solid presence kneeling next to her. Her hands were clutching her abdomen and her sweat-covered body was slowly beginning to cool.

What happened?

She slowly opened her eyes to find the worried face of Logan hovering over her.

It all came crashing back, she could see and feel it all: the dream, the vision, the pain, and the words. Η πτώση της Τροίας, the fall of Troy.

She didn't know how she knew those words, she didn't even know the language they were spoken in. It was like a chord had been struck within her.

Gasping slightly, she rose up on to her elbows.

**Logan**

Logans eyes roamed over her, looking for any injuries. She had scared him when she had collapsed onto the floor like that. Very little scared Logan, even less scared the Wolverine. She had been shaking, moaning, and writhing around and he had been helpless to do a thing. He had touched Rogue's bare skin and, for the second time in his life with her, had not felt the energy drain from him. It was too much like Ellis Island. He couldn't lose her again.

A voice, conspicuosly missing any trace of its former accent was heard from above them.

" How is it, dear one? I know from experience the visions are never pleasant."

The sound of her voice seemed to snap the leash that held the Wolverine . With a ferocity rarely found outside of nature, he was off the floor and on her prone form. His knees held her lower half in place and his left arm was laid across her chest, preventing any movement. He pulled back his right hand and aimed for the woman's neck. Unsheathing the two outter claws, he brought his right arm down too meet with the bed, enclosing the woman's neck between the two claws. Looking her straight in the eye, he slowly slid the last adamantium extension out to graze the flesh beneath him. He growled.

"I should gut you here."

"But you won't, Son of Hector."

His snarl echoed off the rooms walls

"Why do you keep calling me that?"

"Because that is what you are."

"What do you want?"

Her eyes moved to Rogue and she remained still, simply looking at the girl.

" Tell me, Lord, what do you know of your history?"

Logan froze. What could she know of his past? Her glinting grey eyes came back to meet his blazing blue ones, challenging him.

" What do you know?"

" I know much, and I know many who know much more."

He was growing impatient with this. He would either get his answers or kill her.

" My lord, tell me, do you remember getting those marks? The one in between your shoulder blades? Or the one on your forearm?"

He knew the marks she was talking about. One was a simple sheild with a spear crossed infront of it, burned into his forearm. The one on his back was much more elaborate. It was a crest; an intricate circle with laurel branches crossed over the top. A lion on one side and a stag on the other, the words nos mos orior oriri ortus iterum were written inside the circle.

"What about them?"

" I have the crest too, in the same spot, with the same words, as does Rogue. Nos mos orior oriri ortus iterum, we will rise again. We are children of Troy, the continuation of an ancient society, a promise made thousands upon thousands of years ago. Nos mos orior oriri ortus iterum. So we fight and we survive to fulfill that promise."

Silence filled the room.

**Rogue**

The tattoo. They had it too?

Scrambling up, she quickly made her way to the bed.

" Show meh. Both of you."

Sending her an incredulous look, Logan refused to obey.

" No. She could be bluffing."

" Logan, what is she gonna do, attack meh? Please, show meh."

A few seconds that felt like eternities passed. Slowly, oh so slowly, he got off the bed and removed his shirt.(1).

There it was.

She raised a shaking, silk encased hand and lightly traced the tattoo that rested in the middle of his well muscled back.

Gingerly, she pulled her hand back and turned to the bed ridden woman.

" Now you."

Gradually, painfully, the woman sat up. Reaching behind her, she grabbed ahold of the zipper at the neck of her black cat suit and pulled down. There it was. The same crest, the same spot, the same motto.

Gasping, Rogue backed up. The two warriors turned to her, expectant looks in their eyes. She swallowed and looked down. Very carefully, she removed her hoodie and turned, pulling her long hair over her shoulder.

There, just between her shoulder blades, uncovered by her black tank top, was a crest. An intricate circle with laurel branches crossed over the top; a lion on one side and a stag on the other, with the words nos mos orior oriri ortus iterum written inside the circle.

Rogue turned back to the woman.

" What does this mean?"

The woman gave her a small smile.

" It means, Lady, that you are a child born to parents whose ancestors were survivors of the Trojan War, the Trojans that lived. It identifies you to others. It marks you as a Child of Troy. We are a living promise, a moving prophesy."

Moving closer to the woman, Rogue lifted her right forearm. Rolling up the sleeve, she pointed to an olive branch shaped brand.

" What about this."

The woman's eyes never left her own green ones.

" That, Sister, marks you as Chosen. You've had that mark since birth. Great things were seen in your future and our ancient queen, Hecuba, marked you as her own. It means you are our chosen leader."

(1) Hugh Jackman shirtless. Drool.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Sorry, I know, I suck. Sorry. Here is another chapter for your enjoyment.

Keep in mind, this is part one of a two parter chapter. So, part one of the orgins of the Children of Troy.

Disclaimer: Ugh… Don't own X-men or anything associated with Marvel comics.

There was that word again. Leader. This was unbelievable. She would be more inclined to believe that Logan was the Queen of England than she herself being the long lost leader of an ancient civilization.

The deep, gravely voice of Logan broke the silence.

" And we're supposed to believe this?"

A small chuckle was heard from the woman as she slowly turned her upper body to face her opponent.

" They did tell me you would be a hard one to convince. I will admit that I have done very little to encourage you to trust me. What with attacking you and your Professor and generally deceiving you..."

This earned her a small snort from both the man and girl in the room with her.

" …If it would help earn your trust, I would gladly answer any questions you have."

Rogue was the first to take her up on her request. Sitting in the chair beside the bed, she looked at the woman.

" What is ya actual name?"

A small smile came to the face of the woman as she shifted to look at Rogue.

" I have many names that I use, but the one I was born with, the one my family and friends call me is Emina. Emina Iukinia Kennard."

" And ya home?"

" I moved around a lot as a child, never really belonging to anywhere, but for the last 3 years I have resided in Turkey."

Logan looked up at this answer. Turkey. Had he been there? Brief visions flashed before his eyes. An underground city, dancing, fighting, councils… He shook his head.

" How old are ya, bub?"

Emina's eyes glanced his way.

" Twenty-one as of last month."

Logan grunted. He had been right.

" What are ya gonna do with Rogue?"

A small laugh came from the Emina.

" Rather blunt and to the point, aren't you? I was sent here by the council. I am to convince the both of you to come to Turkey with me, to meet the people of Troy. Our current Queen is growing old and we need her successor, which would happen to be you, Anna- Marie, and since the festival is coming up, the council voted for me to collect you now."

"…Huh?"

Emina gave Logan a sad look.

"You don't remember, do you?"

Looking to the bewildered girl beside her, she let out a sigh.

" Perhaps it would be best if I started at the beginning. What do you know of the Legend of Troy?"

Silence descended over the room as she waited for an answer.

Rogue looked over at Logan. Seeing her confused and scared look, he moved to sit beside her.

" Ah know about the Trojan horse and what ever Ah learned from the movie Troy."

Her answer earned her an amused smirk from the woman in front of her.

" And you, Lord?"

The only answer she got from Logan was a grunt. Raising an eyebrow at him, she gave another sigh.

" I see. I guess it wouldn't be too hard for you to forget everything you knew about Troy, hmmmm? I would suggest you do. The romanticized version most of the world knows is so far away from the real story, I'm surprised anyone believes it. How to start, well, perhaps I'll let her decide."

Closing her eyes, Emina slowly crossed her legs and sat facing her audience, muttering a few words neither Rogue nor Logan caught, she started to violently shake.

Just as fast as they had begun, the quivers stopped. Emina opened her eyes to reveal a pair of eyes the colour of melted gold, so very unlike her usual silver gray ones. She opened her mouth, and a voice that was not her own came out. It was like a river, powerful and fluid, cold and sweet, forever moving and changing.

And, so, the story began.

* * *

The actual attack of Troy was not the most horrific thing that happened. No, it was what happened after the battle. Every male, whether they were a man or not, was slaughtered. The babe's were thrown from the top of the wall, their tiny bodies smashed and broken upon impact. The rest had their throats slit where they stood. Their blood ran through the once clean streets of Troy, staining it red. The women were taken as slaves, the spoils of war, but not before the soldiers had had their fun. Many women walked away from that day carrying unwanted children, including the Princess Kassandra. They were played for and became the playthings of the Greek men they so despised. The woman of Troy were scattered across the world, but not before hearing the message of their Queen. We will rise again. So they survived and lived, holding onto that promise, teaching and marking their daughters.

But, what of the Royal family, what happened to Kassandra, Helen, or Andromache? How were they to rise again with out a leader?

The three women of the royal house of Priam who survived had a strong bond. So different they were, and yet so much the same.

Strong and confident, courageous and daring, the Princess Kassandra had been fostered among her mother's people, the amazons, at a young age. Beautiful, in a wild and fierce way, she caught the eye of Agamemnon. He laid claim to her, but not before Ajax the Lesser had her against her will. She came away from Troy carrying the child of the man she hated most in the world, as the slave of the man who had destroyed her home. Never would she rest. She would see them all dead, them and their children and their children's children. She and her family would long be a curse on the destroyers of Troy.

Sweet and caring, compassionate and kindly, the Princess Andromache had lived with her mother in the city of Colchis before being taken to Troy to marry the Prince Hector. She was a Princess in her own right; Her mother had been the ruler of their fair city. Beautiful in a soft and womanly way, she caught the eye of one of the Myrmidons. Taken from her home by a man that had worked under her husband's killer, she was distraught and afraid. She was carrying the child of her dead husband and had told no one. How would she hide this? A curse on the destroyers of Troy, a curse on her husbands killers. She would do anything in her power to ensure her child lived, be it murder or otherwise.

Bold and impish, mischievous and self-assured, The Princess Helen had long ago learned how to use her ultimate beauty to her advantage. She returned to her husband, Menelaus, and to her former home, Sparta, but not before she discovered she was carrying Paris' child. She had no worries, Menelaus was never able to say no to her and she would keep the child, the last earthly reminder of her love. A curse on the destroyers of Troy, the destroyers of her happiness. She would raise this child as her own, as a child of Troy.

Kassandra escaped her prison soon after Agamemnon's death at the hands of his wife. She ran until she found a shepardess and stayed with her until the birth of her child.

Andromache was forgotten in her master's cellar, just another woman to do his bidding. He never even noticed her changing shape.

Helen was treated like the queen that she was. She was allowed to keep her children

The three princesses had twins, each a daughter like her mother and a son like his father. Kassandra marked each with the crest of Troy between the shoulder blades. She added one more mark, on her daughters forearm; she burned a bow with an arrow crossed in front of it, marking her as a daughter of Kassandra. On her son, she burned a trident onto his forearm, marking him as the son of Ajax, forever and always to be scorned and hated by her people. Leaving the son with the shepardess, she ran with her daughter to the Amazons, teaching little Ionone about her people and instilling a healthy sense of vengeance in the girl.

Andromache marked her children with the crest of Troy, and another mark besides. Her daughter had a peacock feather burned into her arm, marking her as a daughter of Andromache. Her son had a spear and shield burned into his forearm, marking him as a son of Hector. Her children were never to know she was their mother, they were told another woman of the household was their mother, conveniently another woman of Troy. The children learned of their heritage, always knowing that they were more then the slaves they were treated as.

Helen did not have to work in such secrecy. She marked her children with the crest of Troy, and burned a dove into her daughters forearm, marking her as a daughter of Helen. On her son, she burned a pair of winged boots, marking him as a Son of Paris. Every day, she openly told her children of their heritage, nurturing their sense of vengeance.

The children grew up into adults and were sent on their way to their people's city, to take up their mothers' quest.

Ionone had grown up to be just like her mother, with her gift of prophecy. A warrior in every way, she was skilled in the ways of war and weapons.

Andromache's children, Polyxena and Agelaus, set on their journey together, as they had always been like that. They were far to like their parents in every way. Polyxena was kind and caring, while Agelaus was a fighter and protector in every way.

Helen's children, Bresius and Alexandros, left Sparta in search for their roots as well. Both were brash and mischievous, but where Bresius was as fair and bold as her mother, Alexandros was as dark and sly as his father.

They traveled to the ruins of Troy, each in search of their past. They arrived at the same time, only by the grace of the gods…


	8. Chapter 8

The five royal children of Troy met upon the ruins of their city

The five royal children of Troy met upon the ruins of their city. Many years had passed, and still the ground was stained red with the blood of the dead.

From the north gate, Ionone entered the city and surveyed the damage. There were still scorch marks to be seen on the walls. Bones littered the walkway, having been bleached by the unforgiving sun. Slowly, she made her way to the center of the decimated city.

Polyxena and Agelaus entered the city from the east gate. Tumbled walls of rock and ruined homes met the children of Andromache and Hector. Here and there lay pieces of pottery and forgotten tools. Agelaus cautiously led his sister to the center of the demolished city.

Through the south gate, Bresius and Alexandros entered the city. The ruined temple of Apollo welcomed them. From under the fallen roof, the head of a statue of the sun God stared at them; it's eyes seeming to follow them as they went. On light and agile feet, they silently made their way to the center of the destroyed city.

There, in the city's center, they met.

From the north, a slim girl with long black hair and gray eyes that flashed. She seemed to wrap herself in a mantel danger and mystery, her every move spoke of many years of training. She was the spitting image of Kassandra.

From the east, a girl with flowing red hair and kindly eyes the colour of the sky accompanied by a boy with dark, curly hair and brooding black eyes. Compassion rolled off her, making her seem approachable. The boy beside her embodied a warrior; broad and well muscled, he looked to be built of rock. She was the spitting image of Andromache, he, the replica of Hector.

From the south, a fair-haired girl with warm, laughing brown eyes entered, followed by a lithe boy with unruly brown hair and gleaming hazel eyes. They both radiated a sensuality and inner beauty that captivated those around them. Her voice sounded like honey that, coupled with her stunning beauty, gave her the ability to persuade anyone to do anything. He had a natural agility, allowing him to slip in and out of anywhere unnoticed. She was the duplication of Helen; he was the recreation of Paris.

They were giving little time to do anymore then eye each other warily, for, as soon as they all set foot in the square, the ground began to shake.

Trying desperately to stay standing, they looked to the west, out over the Aegean Sea. From their vantage point, they could see the waves become agitated and angry, crashing against the shore with a cruel intensity.

Out of the swirling waters came a golden light. It moved across the water and up the hills to the city's center. It approached the five travelers, taking on the shape of a woman, but try as they might, they could not see her face. It was as if she had none.

As soon as it reached the center of the city, the shaking stopped and the light spoke.

" Dearest Royal children of Troy, have no fear. I have come to help you and your people. Many atrocities have been visited to this place, and I will see it undone."

The light spread out, engulfing the five adventurers.

" You will be the leaders of the new generation of Trojans. You will make the council that gives them direction. You will each be the founders of great Trojan houses."

The golden figure turned to the north.

" Dear Ionone, Daughter of Kassandra, raised among the Amazons. There is a fierce pride and determination in you. Your very soul cries out for retribution. You will be the leader of the House of Kassandra. Your children and your children's children for generations after shall all belong to this house. They will be revered for their skills and grace, for your house shall be the house of assassins. The job given to your house is to hunt and execute the offspring of your enemies, the ones who did this to your homeland.

Your house shall only be ruled by daughters of Kassandra, through the matriarchal line, no man shall rule this house."

Turning to the east, the figure addressed the pair in front of her.

" Little Polyxena, daughter of Andromache, you will be the head of the House of Andromache. You and your descendants shall be the Priest's and Priestess', offering comfort and support and an opening to the gods for your people. You will be respected and held in great esteem for your wisdom and logic. Your house shall never be ruled by a man, only a woman, a Daughter of Andromache, through the matriarchal line."

The figure turned slightly to regard the boy behind Polyxena.

" Brave Agelaus, as skilled and fearless as your father. You will lead the House of Hector. You and yours will be the protectors, the warriors, for there will be retaliation from the Greeks when they figured out what has happened. You house will be prized for their strength and loyalty to their people. Protect them and keep them safe. The sons, through the patriarchal line, will rule your house. Train well."

The figure turned to the south, considering the other set of siblings.

" Beloved Bresius, full of life, a credit to your mother, maiden fair. You will lead the House of Helen, the story keepers. The people will come to you and your descendants to learn the truth. Be sure to record your people's history, as there will be many myths and wild stories made out of your people's past. Keep to the truth and you will not go wrong. Your house will be sought after for your knowledge and ethereal beauty. Only the daughters through the matriarchal line shall rule your house."

There was a slight pause as the figure observed the last child.

" Darling Alexandros, so like your father in everyway. You will be head of the House of Paris. You will be leader of thieves. Your job is to finance your people's victory. Your guile and cunning will be much admired among your people, but make sure to share with your people. Greed is not welcome here. The sons of the patriarchal line will rule your house."

Lifting up off the ground, the figure hovered above the leaders.

" One more shall join your council, a queen of my choosing. She will be born of two children of Troy. Look for the mark of an olive branch on her arm. That is my sign. Only two will be born for each generation."

Turning and making its way back to the sea, the figure paused and turned back to her audience.

" Now go, search for your country people. Bring them back here and rebuild this city, bring it back to its original splendor once again. Once a year, hold a festival to honour your ancestors and remember the atrocities brought to them. Do not rest until every descendant of our enemies are dead."

With that, the figure floated down the cliffs and returned to the sea.

Having been giving their orders, the five royals of Troy set out to find their people and bring them home. Slowly, so slowly, their ranks grew.

Keeping their word, they held a festival every year. As their city grew and flourished, so did their houses.

The children of the House of Kassandra were known not only for their skill with a knife, but also for their gift of prophecy.

The children of the House of Andromache were sought out for their wisdom and advice. They served their people well

The children of the House of Helen were beautiful and expert storytellers, captivating their audience. They were masters of the library.

The children of the House of Hector were expert warrior and known for their fierce love and loyalty to their city and it's people.

The children of the House of Paris were well loved by the Trojans. Mischievous and playful, they did their job well and were known for their shenanigans.

The Queen, they soon found, was always compassionate and caring, noble and gracious. She always was able to connect with her people, earning their trust and admiration.

They treated their people with respect and valued their opinions, opening the council floor to the commoners. They were well loved and admired.

So the city of Troy flourished and grew, holding their yearly festivals and honouring their ancestors.

A/N: I'm putting this at the bottom so I don't interrupt the story with my ramblings. I got to use the word shenanigans, hehe. I like that word.

Disclaimer: Has gone missing. It's probably with my sanity.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: I am so sorry for the delay on this chapter. It just wasn't working in any way, shape or form. Pretty soon I'm going to have a 2-week stretch of time off, so I should be able to update more frequently, unless all subsequent chapter turn out as hard to write as this one, which would just suck. Anyways, on with the story, hope you enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything associated with Marvel comics. Sigh, burst my bubble why don't you.

As the story came to an end, Emina's body slumped, as if she were a puppet whose strings had been cut. A long sigh escaped from her, seeming to come from deep inside and her head rose from her chest. Slowly she opened her eyes, revealing her normal silver gray colour.

" Now do you understand?"

Receiving nothing but a stony gaze from Logan and a bewildered and slightly confused look from Rogue, she figured not.

" It means that you are the chosen child for your generation. The olive branch on your arm marks you as such. Our people need their queen. We have grown to many over the years and our pursuit has been most successful. The people need a queen to look to."

Logan snorted in disbelief. He glanced at the girl beside him. How could she be the leader of an entire race of people?

" You, Lord Howlett, are needed as well. Your House is in need of its leader."  
Logan's head whipped around to look at Emina.

"What did you just call me?"

" Lord Howlett, that is your name, is it not?"

Logan noticed the small upturn of her lips and the sparkle of mischief in her eye. She knew exactly what she was doing, knew exactly how to bait him and push his buttons. He gave her a warning growl; he was not in the mood to play games.

Realizing that the situation could deteriorate at any second, Rogue spoke up.

" Ah understand the visions now and why ya came to get meh, but how in the Sam hill am ah supposed ta be a queen. Ah mean, ah'm only seventeen and have no idea …"

Emina, who had reached out and cupped Rogue's face between her hands, making sure the girl's hair protected her bare hands, cut her off.

" Don't doubt what you are. You see yourself as weak and a permanent damsel in distress, but Lady, there is steel to your backbone; you posses a quiet strength that you have yet to notice. There is a fiery sass in you that you rarely let out and a compassion for people. There is a passionate being behind your shy demeanor and a fiercely loyal fighter. You do what needs to be done and are rarely deterred from you objective. As stubborn as a mule yet knowing when it is best to concede to another, you have the power to bring down the mightiest warrior with a simple glance, whether it is a glare or a 'come-hither' look. You just need confidence and training, and one comes with the other.

You were chosen for a reason and we could not ask for a better queen."

Looking into the woman's eyes, Rogue found sincerity and a true genuineness. This struck her straight to the core. This woman actually believed she, Rogue, was a princess. She was living in one of her fantasy novels come to life, the only thing missing was a knight in shining armor to come and sweep her off her feet. Doubt swirled around her mind, but there was a tiny particle of faith that held, one small voice that spoke to her, telling her to trust this woman. She'd obviously gone to a lot of trouble, and she knew Logan's real name, that must count for something. Still, one thing was bothering her…

" Why didn't mah parents…?"

Emina, predicting her next question, silently shook her head and dropped her hands.

" No, we will not talk about that here. Later. Now, you have a decision to make. Will you come with me to Turkey for the festival, or will you stay here and never realize your potential?"

Vibrant green eyes widened to almost comic size. Turkey? Was Emina really asking her this? Leave her home and friends for a complete stranger that she felt a connection to? What if this woman was leading her to her death? There was no way she would leave. She had a life here… wait. Did she really have a life at the institute? True, she had friends, but no one close save for Logan. Ever since Bobby and her had broken it off, the rest of the group had distanced themselves from her. They seemed to be afraid. Not like she had helped much, retreating into herself soon after the breakup. Maybe she needed a break? What about her schooling? Or her… well, that was it, really. She had thrown herself into her schoolwork with the dissolution of her social life, such as it was. She was sure a small break wouldn't hurt…right?

She turned to Logan, looking askance with her eyes. He looked at her and immediately his eyes softened. Interpreting her question correctly, he answered.

" It's up to you, kid, but what ever you decide, I'm goin' with ya."

Rogue turned back to the woman in front of her, searching her face for any trace of dishonesty or trickery she could find. A thorough scan brought nothing to the surface. Either this woman was really good at lying, or she was telling the truth, and if she was lying, Logan would be able to smell it on her.

It made no sense, none at all. Was she ready to take a leap of faith? Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. Letting it out slowly, she opened her eyes and locked her gaze with Eminas.

" We will go with ya ta Turkey for tha festival, but ah am makin' no promises as to whether we will stay or not. Ah am not agreeing to be ya queen or anyone else's, this is just a visit. We are testing the waters, so ta speak, understand?"

Emina' s eyes lit up from within, the only outward sign that she was pleased by this answer.

" Of course, My Lady, as you wish. When shall we leave?"


	10. Chapter 10

AN: Huh, who'da thought that getting ready for school would take up so much time? Sorry to my patient and loyal readers. Another chapter for you, yay!

Disclaimer: I do not own the x-men, they belong to Marvel comics, blah blah blah…

Sitting in the Blackbird was not the most comfortable occurrence for Rogue. Generally, every experience she had in the aircraft was bad, as in scarring. She really did not like planes. Letting out a shaky breath, she vainly tried to calm herself down. Staring intently at the floor, she did not notice the man beside her reach out his gloved hand to brush her unique striped hair behind her ear until it was done. Turning to her right, she looked at her companion.

" It's alright, darlin', you're doin' just fine."

Giving Logan a tremulous smile, she turned her eyes to the floor again and started to count under her breath.

Leaning back in his seat, Logan took the girls hand in his own, squeezing it in assurance. He really didn't blame her. Her experiences with the Blackbird were not pleasant, to say the least.

Settling his gaze ahead of him, the wild man wondered how long the trip was going to take. He was already starting to lose feeling in the hand the southern girl was squeezing.

He had been quite surprised at how easy it had been to convince Charles to let Rogue leave. It wasn't something he normally had to think of, as he was used to just picking up and leaving.

He had to admit Rogue was one hell of a fast thinker. She had come up with some good points in favour of her going on this trip. A smile came to his face as he remembered how Charles had let himself be played by a teenaged girl. He had seen the same wide eyed innocent act from her before, usually when she was trying to get out of something, like a homework assignment from Scooter. It usually worked, even with the almighty leader of the X-men. What he didn't understand was how she was able to talk them into chartering the three "Children of Troy" to Greece. Given, flying would have been a bit of a hassle anyway, with his metal skeleton and all, but still… Giving a mental shrug, Logan settled into his seat and continued to tend to the stressed girl beside him.

In the seat across from them, sat Emina. She had been surprisingly quite from the time she exited the infirmary, only opening her mouth to refuse to let the X-men into her home in Turkey. They had compromised with her and were allowed to fly the threesome to Greece, where they would then board a cruise ship to Turkey. Staring straight ahead, the woman sat rigid on the edge of her seat. In her right hand was an amulet she rubbed between her fingers while her left hand held onto the hilt of the katana that she held across her lap. Her lips moved silently, seeming to form a silent prayer. She hadn't moved since she had taken her seat, not even to acknowledge the others. She just sat looking at the back of the chair in front of her. No one knew the reason for her edgy behaviour, but it seemed to lessen the closer they got to their destination.

The trip was made in relative silence, adding even more tension to the plane.

The only saving grace was the speed of the Blackbird. Quickly, they made their way across the Atlantic ocean, passing over miles and miles of pristine blue-green water. They flew over France and Germany, Italy and across the Ionian Sea. Fast and nimble, they flew undetected.

Then, Scott turned to look at his passengers.

" We're here."

Never had Rogue been more happy to hear those two words. Those lovely words. Those lovely , divine, beautiful words meant that she would be getting off the plane soon, as in touching solid ground, as in out of this metal death trap.

Heaving a sigh of relief, she got ready for the landing.


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: It's here, it's here!! The introduction of our favourite thief into the story! Wow, this made even me happy, and I'm the one writing this. Hope you enjoy. ShadowFax999 , get ready for some frantic messages….. This could be my last chapter for awhile, I'm moving into rez this week, so it may be awhile for until I can post again…. Do not fear, I'm still working on the story, just not posting.

Disclaimer: I don't own the X-men in any way, shape, or form. I am just a crazed creeper of a fan who is manipulating their stories for her own amusement.

Emina was on edge. She had been since they boarded the cruise ship. No one else would have noticed it. The way her jaw clenched and unclenched, her inability to eat , her short, stilted speech. Yes, something was definitely getting to her. The only question was what?

The dark, burly, hairy man she was with seemed to pick up on her uneasiness, which in turn seemed to make him edgy. Allowing himself a small smirk, the man laughed to himself. He was willing to bet that those two were absolute joys to be around. A jumpy, sarcastic assassin who was more wont to slice you from stem to sternum (with either the dagger hidden on her person or her sharp tongue) then look at you, and a paranoid feral man who slices first and asks questions later. Oh, yes, the best of travel companions to be sure.

Shifting his gaze, the man studied the distinctive girl with them. He had found himself mesmerized by her. He didn't know if it was the pure white streak in her rich chocolate brown hair, the way her emerald eyes seemed to be lit from within and were able to convey a wisdom and sadness beyond her years, or the obvious chip on her shoulder, but he was drawn to her.

The girl turned to her companions, obviously not bothered by their moods, or just used to them. She was trying to engage them in a conversation and was apparently getting no

where. He gave a half hearted sigh and reached into his pocket. Turning slightly, he pulled out a pack of cigarette's and plucked one from its home . Bringing it to his lips, he promptly lit it. That's what he liked about the European countries, say what you want about them, at least you could smoke a cig in peace anywhere you wanted. Slowly exhaling, he turned back to the small group that had him so captivated.

Nothing of any importance was happening, allowing him to go back to his inner musings.

Who was the girl and the man? Normally he wouldn't be so interested, but they had sent Emina after these two. Something was happening, something big. Very little was able to rattle the assassin, there was only one other time he remembered her being so high strung… maybe…

Dropping the remnants of his cigarette, he crushed the burning embers under foot. Giving the ashes nothing more than a passing glance to make sure they were out, he returned his gaze to… the girl, and only the girl.

His eyes widened as he realized what had happened. He had lost Emina and the man .

Before he even had time to wonder as to their whereabouts, he felt cold, hard steel meet his neck as his head was roughly pulled back.

Then a familiar voice sounded near his ear.

" Enjoying the view?"

* * *

They sat at the small table on deck. The last two days had been rather nice, if you could get passed the sullen woman and apprehensive, over-protected wild man. The sun was bright and beat down upon the world, but the wind off of the water took away the heat, making the days bearable. Looking across the table at the woman in front of her, Rogue furrowed her brow. Something was up. Emina had been very quiet, unnervingly quiet. Short, clipped answers to questions and grunts were all she had gotten. If she didn't know any better, she'd swear she was talking to Logan. Although, if she thought about it, he wasn't much better. Something had him tense too. Hmmmmm…….

Deciding it was time to break the silence, Rogue took a sip of her tea and cleared her throat.

" So, ah… what house are ya from?"

Emina raised an eyebrow and looked at the girl from over her cup.

" I thought that would have been obvious."

The look Rogue gave her could have melted flesh.

Sighing she rolled up the sleeve of her light weight cardigan and presented her forearm to the girl. There , marked in her arm, was the shape of a bow with an arrow crossed in front of it.

" I am of the House of Kassandra, the assassins house."

Rolling her sleeve down, she returned to her drink, looking out across the Aegean Sea.

"What's that lahke?"

Giving the girl and incredulous look, Emina set down her drink with enough force to chip the saucer.

"Why? Why do you want to know all this?"

The younger girl shrugged

"Just making conversation."

" You'll learn soon enough all there is to know about…"

Suddenly Emina's eyes widened and a dangerous glint filled them. She turned, her gaze boring into Logan.

" Tell me, Lord, what do you smell?"

Lifting his nose to the air, Logan gave a deep sniff. The smells that assaulted him were many and varied, but there were a few that were out of place.

" What're ya looking for?

"Anything that seems out of place, like Marlboro's."

Logan smirked at this. The woman could tell the difference between cigarette brands by smell? Interesting. Taking another sniff, he looked at the woman.

" Marlboro mixed with bourbon and cayenne pepper. A friend of yours?"

Emina gracefully fell back in her chair, surreptitiously scanning the deck and balconies around them.

" You could call him that. Lady, you stay here, Lord, follow me, quickly."

Before Rogue could protest, they were gone.

" Damn! For a man filled with metal, he moves fast!"

Sitting back in her chair, she resolved to wait and enjoy her morning.


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: Ha, I have survived Frosh week and the first week of classes and I'm back with a new chapter. A thank you goes out to my readers for your patience and understanding. Please do enjoy this chapter, and remember, your reviews motivate me. Special thank you goes to ShadowFax999, who helped me with this chapter.

Disclaimer: Was left at home during the move. Shoot.

_He ran, ran as if the hounds of Hades were on his heels. Through the dark night, over the rocky terrain. He ignored his burning lungs and aching feet. On and on he ran, leaving a trail of blood that seeped from his wounds. Every breath he took set fire to his insides, with every step his legs threatened to give out from under him. His body would not last long, but it would last long enough , long enough for his message to be delivered. Long enough to inform his master._

_It was starting._

* * *

This was not a new occurrence for Remy LeBeau. Generally speaking, having his life threatened in various and creative fashions was as familiar to him as breathing air. Hell, even being held at knife point by an assassin was a pretty ordinary, if not somewhat mundane, event for his family . No, this was old hat for him. The part that was causing some concern was the ominous, animalistic growl and the three unyielding dagger tips pressing into his back.

_Merde._

He swallowed, feeling the edge of the knife graze the tender skin of his neck. Taking a tiny breath to steady himself, he called on the infamous LeBeau charm.

Plastering a sly smirk on his face, he slowly removed his sunglasses. Shifting his gaze to the left, he locked eyes with his assailant.

" Miss moi, crotte?"(1)

His answer was an outraged hiss. The dagger was quickly removed and the thief was spun around to meet his attackers face to face.

Before him stood the two missing persons from the deck table. To his left, a stocky wild man with metal claws coming out of his hands, and to his right, a seething assassin.

" I told you to never call me that."

The smirk never left his face as he wagged his finger in front of her face.

"Tsk,tsk,tsk. Didn't y' mere ever teach y' to respect y' elders, petit?"

Silently, he laughed at the spluttering woman before him. All those years spent training together and he was still able to get under her skin.

" Three months hardly makes you my elder. Besides, I learned it was more prudent to respect my _superiors. _A lesson you seem to still need to learn, Lord LeBeau."

Giving a shrug, the thief continued to antagonize her.

" T'ree months be t'ree months, chere."

" Give me one reason why I shouldn't skin you alive right here and now."

"Awwwww, petit. You would miss Gambit to much. What would life be like wit'out him?"

" Oh, that's cruel. Making me imagine heaven when we both know I'll never make it there."

" Oh, crotte, dat hurts."

" What did I tell you about that name."

Logan decided he'd had enough. This confrontation was quickly deteriorating into a name calling match. If he wanted to referee one of those, he could have stayed at the mansion. He didn't know who the guy was, nor did he care. He was itching for a fight and didn't much like being ignored. Besides, the Cajun punk was getting on his nerves. He was too cocky for his own damn good. Someone needed to teach him a lesson." So, ya want me to skewer him for ya, or are ya looking ta slice anddice'em."

Remy raised an eyebrow at the stout man and sent a pointed looktowards his claws. " Ya julienne french fries wit dose too, homme?"The only thing that stopped the Wolverine from completely losing it wasthe hand Emina held out to stop him. Never taking her eyes off the thief infront of her, she backed away from Remy to join Logan a few feet away. " No, Lord, as much as I would like to take you up on your offer, Idon't believe it would be best to murder the youngest son of the head ofthe House of Paris. What I will ask you to do is keep a close watch on him. Itseems we have acquired another traveling companion."Knowing when he was caught, the thief performed a majestic bow to the womanand motioned for her to lead the way. Well, at least he would be able to meet the pretty femme they had withthem.

(1) A term of endearment in French, ma crotte , when translated to English, means… my turd. Now, there is a bit of a back story on this one, that you will find out later. This back story will help explain why Emina hates this name beyond the obvious reasons.


End file.
